


Touching Tenderly

by ScribblesOnPebbles



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Cuddling & Snuggling, Cuddly John, Cuddly Sherlock, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Light Swearing, M/M, Omega John Watson, Omega Sherlock Holmes, Omega Verse, Omega/Omega, Pining, Spooning, Touch-Starved
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-13
Updated: 2020-08-13
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:20:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25882006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScribblesOnPebbles/pseuds/ScribblesOnPebbles
Summary: “Can you hug me?”“Of course,” Sherlock replied. If his voice betrayed the slightest hint of eagerness, it hadn’t seemed to bother John at all.•••••Omegas are physically affectionate, especially one John Watson. On one hand, it pleases omega Sherlock since he gets to hold John in his arms. On the other hand, it only makes his feelings grow more and more for his flatmate.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 28
Kudos: 265





	Touching Tenderly

**Author's Note:**

> this is unrelated to my _Building a Nest_ Johnlock omega/omega fic by the way <3

“Can you hug me?”

“Of course,” Sherlock replied. If his voice betrayed the slightest hint of eagerness, it hadn’t seemed to bother John at all. He took strides toward his flatmate, observing how the other was trembling to the tips of his fingers, eyes drooped and tufts of hair sticking out wildly. It was often that after a long day of work, John would want physical affection. 

Soon Sherlock reached him, standing closely in front of him so he could feel the puff of John’s breath. “Thanks,” nodded John. Sherlock opened and closed his hands in a skittish fashion. Sure, he expected this to happen, the requests came almost every day, but he never got used to it. Whether it was hugging, holding hands, or petting through John’s hair, the buzz of warmth laced with timidness rested in the pit of his core. It was John after all. He was sunshine, the fresh breeze, the pollen to the bees. Sherlock got to touch him, this gorgeous specimen. 

In a languid movement, he brought his arms up to grasp John, one arm wrapped around his waist, the other angled to cling at his upper back. Gently, Sherlock pulled him closer, wanting—no, _needing_ their bodies to press against each other, John complied with shuffling of his feet and his head bowed to bury into his chest. His flatmate let out a contented sigh, nuzzling with his nose. Sherlock wanted to cry. He could feel John’s low pur vibrate and smell his omega pheromones, now lush with calmness. His arm skated slowly up so his hand could cup the back of John’s neck, thumb nestling into the soft hairs. John’s sweet scent of honey and citrus tea with the underlying dash of gunpowder residue that made him so _thrilling_ flooded his nose as he tucked his face into the top of the other’s head. Minutes passed and Sherlock continued to tightly embrace John.

His John.

But then John stepped back and he was reminded that John was not his, nor did he belong to him. That John Watson was an omega, and omegas are of second-genders which require physical affection to sustain the balance of their body. The touches between them were nothing more. Yet Sherlock treasured their moments, and each one stored only made his heart grow heavier with sentiment.

‘Love’, as John would put it.

****

Sherlock had always been different, even to his omega core. Unlike the majority of the omega population, his body worked differently in the way that he was very particular with who he let touch him and who he touched. His skin would prickle with unease if a stranger even so tapped him on the shoulder. As time went by, he found only a select few he could tolerate, such as Mrs Hudson, Lestrade, his parents and _somehow_ bloody Mycroft.

Despite them, touch-starvation symptoms would creep up on him. Strong tremors and dizziness wracked through him unnoticed and he’d find himself in an omega hospital. Mycroft insisted on hiring a professional, but Sherlock sneered in response. In the end, he had succeeded in finding temporary solutions; bathing in hot water for a long period of time, curling himself into warm fuzzy blankets and squishing between two large body pillows. It staved off the madness writhing inside him for the most part, but the desire to be held by a body still resided. Then John came into his life and suffocated him with his warmth.

This was not merely a figure of speech. 

When they had first met, John had wrapped his arms tight around Sherlock who reacted with a jolt. After a few seconds, he had realized he quite liked this snuggly creature clutching onto him; the omega was a bundle of warmth and his scent was an ambrosia he could get drunk off of. He reciprocated, squeezing back with his own lanky arms. When they pulled back (much to Sherlock’s dismay), John had looked up at him with a sheepish smile.

_“Sorry, that made you uncomfortable didn’t it? If a next time comes up—” please be a next time please be a next time, Sherlock inwardly chanted, “—I’ll ask. I should know better. Not all omegas throw themselves on people like I do.” He shuffled his feet and sighed, “A bit not good, what I just did,” the smaller man ended his sentence with biting his bottom lip._

_Sherlock then proceeded to deduce the omega, from how he was looking for a flatshare judging from the conversation Sherlock had with Mike Stamford earlier and how he was an army doctor with a psychosomatic limp. “A bit not good is what I am,” the corners of Sherlock’s lips tugged up, and the man in front of him did the same. Dazzling. “What’s your name?”_

It wasn’t long after John Watson had moved in that Sherlock found the man was perfect for him in every way, and it only got better when John started asking for hugs and other touches. Besides increasing Sherlock’s general mood, his touch-starvation symptoms slowly wore off. 

Most times the requests would happen in the private space of their flat, but there were instances where it happened in public. One of Sherlock’s favourite ones was when they were at a crime scene; John would ask Sherlock to hug him from behind and Sherlock would do just that while rattling off his deductions. _Brilliant!_ and _fantastic!_ his partner would beam. Sherlock wondered if John ever felt his heartbeat speed up during his praises. 

He himself never asked John for physical affection. He figured if he did, he would seek the other man’s attention all the time which would make him come off as clingy and drive John away. And for all Sherlock knew, he was just another person that John could snuggle up with. Old army companions, rugby teammates, the countless number of girlfriends, their clients—why would Sherlock be any different?

He sighed, looking down at his hand. John had asked him to hold his hand before retiring to his bedroom. He remembered grasping the smaller yet thick sturdy hand. How when their hands moulded together, a burst of warmth shot up through his arm to explore the rest of his body. He had felt the other man’s built-up calluses and every tiny nick and scar. 

Sherlock buried his face into his hand, chasing after John’s sweet scent. He remained still and concentrated for an inexpressible amount of time. 

****

One whole week, twenty-one hours, seven minutes and fifteen seconds. That’s how long he had been without John.

There was a case out of town that had interested Sherlock, so he decided to investigate it. John opted out, saying he needed to stay and work. A huff was Sherlock’s response to that, but he hadn’t pressed further as he knew his flatmate would remain stubborn on the subject. 

So off Sherlock went, predicting he would solve the murder within two days. He had been sorely mistaken, for it turned out this case ended up tying with another case in a different town. The whole incident had turned the cogs in his mind fast with exhilaration, but traveling back and forth from town to town tired him and _bloody hell it was just not the same without John_. He had missed his Saturday morning where John would ask in all of his sleepy bed-headed glory if Sherlock could put a hand at the nape of his neck. And deducing hadn’t been nearly as gratifying due to the lack of his partner and his wonderful varying compliments. 

It should be thrilling to be back at home, to be back in John’s presence. As he lay on the sofa with his hands steepled under his chin and in the safety of 221B, it wasn’t exactly the case.

Sherlock was enthused when he had returned, but when John had greeted him he only gave him a brief pat on the shoulder and a ‘welcome back’. Sherlock had smelled Greg on him, and judging by his appearance, the two omegas had sat side by side, arms around their shoulders while they watched the telly for some good many hours. This was a common occurrence between his friends so he hadn’t been surprised, but the issue was that it meant John was satisfied physically. He wouldn’t request Sherlock things like hand-holding or hugging until the next day or so.

Rationally, he knew his body could hold out longer before he could get into a critical condition of touch-starvation, but deep inside him he wanted John’s touch _now_. He wiggled his body on the cushions. 

“Sherlock? Was that noise you?” Sherlock hadn’t realized he let out a disgruntled noise until John had piped up. “You doing alright?” his flatmate came walking in. 

He almost shouted _‘I need your hands on me’_ and had the urge to tackle the other to the ground, but he restrained himself. “I’m fine.” John knitted his eyebrows and peered at him closely, eyes flitted all over his body. Ugh, Sherlock thought, he knew that look. That concerned analytical doctor’s look. “I’m _fine_ , John.”

“No, no you’re not,” sighed John, “I hadn’t noticed it before, but with how you’re squirming and have tremors all over, and how you probably hadn’t had close contact while you were away, it’s natural as an omega for you to feel touch-deprived.” Sherlock wanted to shake his head and vehemently deny it all, but when John cupped his cheek with a gentle palm, he melted into the contact. John’s voice came out soft and buttery, “What do you need, Sherlock?”

“I…” bugger, he’d figure it all out later. He couldn’t resist the sweet and comforting omega pheromones spilling out of John. “Cuddle with me… please,” his small tone pleaded.

With a fond smile, John nodded and helped Sherlock up. His flatmate herded him upstairs to his room and Sherlock complied with light floaty steps. When they approached John’s bed, the omega manhandled Sherlock with strong arms to pull him onto the nest of blankets and pillows. Sherlock was quickly positioned so he was tucked in John’s body, facing away from his flatmate. Their legs intertwined while John hugged Sherlock’s midsection like an octopus; a very lovable one. 

“This is called ‘spooning’ by the way. It’s a cuddle position.” John’s breath tickled the back of his neck as he hummed. No retort came from Sherlock, he was too dazed. His body relaxed and absorbed the warmth all along his back as each second went by. Tight, cozy and _John._ Sherlock couldn’t stop his mewls that slipped past his lips as he was encased with John’s earthy home-sweet scent, his partner’s thumb stroking rhythmically back and forth on his belly. 

Somewhere along the way Sherlock let his heavy eyelids take over, sleep washing over him. When he woke up, he found he was still comfy against John, the other omega was threading his fingers in his dark curls. Sherlock yawned and pushed himself back deeper into John’s hold. 

“Hello there,” said John, “You know, I had never asked cuddling from you because I thought it would be pushing your boundaries. It’s clear that you enjoy it though.”

“Mmm,” Sherlock purred, “Very much so. I wish for us to ‘spoon’ more in the future. Perhaps next time I could be the one to wrap around you.”

Silence grew. “I…Sherlock…” John’s next sentence was so quiet he wouldn’t have heard it if his flatmate wasn’t by his ear, “…can it be more than just two omegas seeking physical contact? More than just friends…”

“Of course,” replied Sherlock, the assured steady tone of his voice did not match his racing heart. “We’ll be mates.” John’s exhale of relief was audible and he stuffed his face into Sherlock’s neck. The omega scented him, savoring each whiff. He rubbed his cheek into his scent gland with a fervent need. A shiver of delight passed up Sherlock’s spine and a soft mew escaped him. 

“Oh, thank god,” John started. “I wasn’t sure if you were interested in me in that way. You seemed to enjoy it when we were physically affectionate with each other—which by the way I started that because I was a greedy bastard and wanted your touch—but it worried me that it was your—” 

“Hush,” murmured Sherlock, tilting his head back to cut off John’s rambling. “Just think about us.” Sherlock let his own omega pheromones of tenderness seep out of him. It seemed to have a calming effect, for John pressed a kiss on his neck.

“Us,” he repeated in a whisper. 

Sherlock felt John nuzzling into his dark curls, the unspoken _‘I love you’_ was there in the gesture. Their scents mixed together in harmony, swirling passionately in the air. Warmth blossomed in their hearts as they lay secure and snug in each other’s arms.

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave a comment <3!! Feedback is very much welcome!!
> 
> Thanks for reading, this is not beta read or brit-picked so all mistakes are mine!  
> ┊  
> ✧･ﾟ  
> You can reach out to me on Tumblr: [ScribblesOnPebbles](https://scribblesonpebbles.tumblr.com/)


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